“Since when do you get shy?” he teased.
She was trying to come up with a smart-ass reply when she heard a pounding on the bedroom door.
“Bitch, you have five seconds before I’m coming in!” Sex Piston threatened from the other side of the door.
“Please tell me you locked the door,” Killyama whispered, horrorstricken.
When she saw their faces, she scrambled off the bed and picked up her clothes, throwing them under Train’s bed. Hastily, Killyama then dropped to the floor, lifting the bedspread so she could crawl under the bed.
The men had frozen at Sex Piston’s threat, expecting Killyama to keep her out. They couldn’t understand what she was doing until it was too late, missing their chance to get dressed.
“What is she doing?” Rider asked Train, both of their faces perplexed.
“I’m hiding, assholes. Tell her I’m not here.”
28
“Are you coming or not?” Train held his phone tighter to his ear, swiveling the stool he was sitting on as he turned to see Jewell wasn’t in her office.
Getting up from his worktable, he went into the empty office, shutting himself in so he could hear Killyama.
“I’m thinking about it. I’ll let you know in a few hours.”
Her vague answer rose his suspicions.
“Where are you? I thought you were hanging out at Sex Piston’s shop today.”
“I am.”
She was lying. The woman wouldn’t consider lying if they were face to face.
“Let me talk to her. I want to say hi.”
“Dude, she doesn’t want to say hi. She’s telling her customer what happened last weekend.”
He was going to kill her. The woman knew exactly what buttons to push to distract him, and she didn’t just push; she took a sledgehammer to them.
“Gotta go. She has a customer coming in, and I need to check them in for her.”
Train stared down at the phone. She had hung up on him without telling him good-bye.
Gnashing his teeth, he dialed another number.
“Where is she?”
“Hammer and Jonas just picked Killyama up. I don’t know where they’re headed yet. When I do, I’ll call.”
“Thanks. Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
Train shoved his cell phone back into his pocket. There wasn’t anything else he could do until he heard from Crash.
Someone had been on her day and night since Shade had told them she had been hurt. She tracked anyone who had a bounty on their head, and she was good at it, too. She had no concept of danger, though, and that scared the fuck out of him.
Hammer and Jonas were always by her side, but it didn’t relieve his worry. They had fucked up when she had nearly been strangled and raped by Kane. Train didn’t believe in giving second chances where her safety was concerned.
He tiredly went back to his worktable, filling the numerous orders. He had been spending the evenings and nights with Killyama, and switching between working at the factory and keeping an eye on her during the day.
He owed Crash big time. All the brothers had stepped up to take shifts for him on watching her, but it usually fell on Crash to keep an eye or her because most of the computer work he did could be done at night. If the brother kept volunteering when he had to ask for help, Train was going to start paying him.
He had just settled back down at his worktable when Stori handed him a couple of letters and a small package.
“You coming to the dinner tonight? Willa made you a birthday cake.”
“Yes.” Train reached for the box cutter.
Stori hesitated from delivering the rest of the mail, finally telling him, “I plan on making your favorite casserole, but I wanted to make sure you were going to be there before I do.”
He stopped opening the box to give her a friendly grin. “I wouldn’t miss my own birthday party.”
“So, how are you and Killyama doing?”
Train set the box cutter down to give her his full attention. “I’m planning a future with her, if that’s what you’re asking.”
She placed a caressing hand on his arm. “I was just checking. I miss spending time with you.”
Train pulled his arm away. “You can spend time with me at the party tonight. Killyama will be there, too. I want all the women to become friends with her.”
Stori’s mouth drooped in disappointment. “Sure. Well, I better get busy. I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay.” Train went back to opening the package.
Looking inside, he pulled out a tool roll. It was made out of a soft, oil-tanned leather that felt like butter in his hands. Unwinding the thin strap from the metal toggle that kept it closed, he unrolled it until it was flat. The pockets had snaps that kept him from seeing inside. He unsnapped each of the pockets, taking out motorcycle tools. Then, carefully placing them back in the pockets and snapping them closed, Train rolled it back up and just stared at the gift.